Kiss of the Demon
by Compulsive Writer
Summary: Ten years after the collapse of Mithril, someone is killing off young women all over Japan. Due to a shocking revelation that connects all the victims, Kurz Webber fears his 6-year-old daughter may be the next target.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

Kurz Webber was a little older, a little wiser. In the ten years since the dismantlement of Mithril, he had even learned a touch of humility. He'd adopted a new persona, a new look, and had even proven in the past six or so years that he could be a caring and devoted father and husband. If there was one thing about the ex-mercenary that he couldn't shake since he'd walked down the aisle, it was the irony that once he'd become a free man, he had thrown it all away for the sake of a girl.

Their visit to Tokyo had been an emotional one so far. Exactly ten years to the minute of the historic and horrible battle that had been his last, Kurz and his two little ladies stood at the spot where the Arm Slave that had carried Melissa Mao had met its ultimate demise. The three of them each kissed the white rose from the bundle Kurz had bought from a nearby flower shop and, at last, he dropped the delicate bloom to the pavement. In silence they stood there, staring down at the flower for a time.

Slowly, Kurz put an arm around his wife's waist and drew her to his side. Yue lay her head against his shoulder. They had known each other for long enough now that they knew what the other was thinking, and that they were each thinking the same thing. It had been Melissa, Yue's cousin, who had brought the pair together, four years after her death. Kurz put a hand on little Lei's shoulder, and the six-year-old girl turned her dark gaze up to his. He smiled down and mussed the girl's hair, thinking about how much she looked like the aunt she had never known.

After several minutes, Kurz looked at his wrist. It was exactly 10:48 A.M., meaning that half a world away, off the coast of a small island in the Caribbean, another ex-mercenary was about to do the same as he and his family.

Kurz sighed. There were two more trips he had to make this morning, and he wasn't sure he could make it in time… but this stop in particular had been crucial, at least for him. He knew Yue felt the same way. He kissed the top of her head and finally, having said his tenth goodbye in as many years, he led his ladies away from the site of Melissa Mao's final destination.

"See ya later," was all he said when he glanced back, smiling a sad smile.

He wondered if this would be the last goodbye, and when he might manage to get himself killed. He let the morbid thought pass and took the hand of each of the two special girls in his life as they prepared to cross a very busy Tokyo highway.

He hoped there was enough time…

* * *

Half a world away, at precisely 9:50 P.M., the local time, a young lady named Jasmine de la Croix helped her adoptive father, Uribe Cruze, a former mercenary for the long-dead organization known as Mithril, to lift the third of three small barrels, each filled with beautiful, white roses, over the edge of his fishing boat, the _Tessa_. The two sat in silence for a time afterwards, watching the roses drift out to sea, one for each life lost on that horrific day, minus one. Jasmine knew well the purpose of this ritual—she had gone with him each of the past six years—and though she had never known those who had died here, in the sinking of the _Tuatha de Danaan_, she still shed a tear for those who had been her father's comrades.

As the other flowers drifted away, her father pulled out the single blue rose that he always saved for last. He kissed the soft pedals and whispered, "Lieutenant Uribe Cruze, reporting for duty. As always, Madam Captain." He dropped that single rose into the sea to join the others, in the same way that Captain Teletha Testarossa had, exactly ten years before.

Uribe Cruze, a man who had cried exactly nine times in his life since the age of fourteen, cried for the tenth in as many years.

* * *

In New York City, a man with platinum blond hair stood behind his desk in his corner office on the ninety-third floor of the new World Trade Center's second tower, his nose buried in a white rose as he breathed in its intoxicating scent. He peered out the window to the third tower's brilliant, gilded clock. At exactly 10:00 P.M., Eastern Standard Time, ten years ago, Miss Morgan Eisenreich burst through a door leading into the conference room of a different building across town, with a report that would change the world.

Now, as the clock struck ten, he was left alone to remember his fallen sister in silence. A minute later, he took up his coat and hat, stepped out of his office, and headed home for the day. Ten years ago, the fun had only just begun when Tessa had perished along with her precious _Tuatha de Danaan_. Back then, Mithril had still been a thorn in his side, and by extension, a terrible burden on his superiors, along with a good deal of folks in similar "businesses" the world over.

A lot had changed in ten years.

But, in the end, all that meant was that now, each day was just excruciatingly boring.

* * *

Kana Otaka had spent most of the last ten years of her life in America, but she was back home now. She'd moved into a small apartment building in Tokyo. There were seventeen other residents, including the apartment manager, whom she had actually gotten to know quite well over the past ten years. After all, the manager had also been her landlord back in the States. After high school, she'd moved to a small Missouri town that was actually a suburb of Kansas City, where she'd attended UMKC. She stayed in the States with the grandson of a World War II veteran, an American by the name of Vincent Gulliver. Vincent's family had actually lived in Japan since the war, and he had been the first to go back to the United States in nearly sixty years.

Almost ten years after moving to the States, he'd decided to go back to Japan. Mostly, he'd made the decision out of respect to Kana, but also, what with his grandfather dead and his father's health failing, he'd wanted to ensure the continuation of the family business. Kana thought she was lucky: the family business just so happened to be the Gulliver's Travels Lodge, which made it significantly easier to seize a quality home in the middle of one of the world's largest and most populated cities.

She supposed she owed all the luck she'd had in leading a normal life to the Gullivers, actually. Because she had known Vincent, it had been easy to land a job when she moved back to Japan. After all, being the manager of the lodge, Vincent also knew the landlord quite intimately. She was his fifty-seven-year-old Korean stepmother, in fact, acting as the landlord in place of his ailing father. Due to this alone, in her mind, Kana had been able to earn a decent wage as the manager of the lodge's adjacent bathhouse, a very successful business considering most of the rooms offered had only shower stalls in their bathrooms.

Being the manager of a bathhouse had its perks, especially one that earned a great deal of money, but Kana was grateful to Vincent for another reason, a reason that few could even begin to understand without having lived the life that both Kana and Vincent had lived prior to having ever met one another. Ten years ago both of their lives had changed in a fleeting instant; three days later, Kana was introduced to Vincent as they boarded a flight to America, and their new lives.

In the chaos of that day, as the city continued to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of Hell on Earth, it had actually been quite easy to sneak out of the country, especially considering the resources of a mutual friend.

Now, on just her third day back in Tokyo—and her second day on the job as the bathhouse manager—Kana sat atop the roof of the apartment complex and stared through the mass of concrete and steel and glass. It was her lunch hour, and she intended to spend it alone, even if peace and quiet in Tokyo was as common as air in the dead of space. The date was significant, and that was what she thought about as she ate a light lunch of cucumber sandwiches and an iced coffee.

She thought about how different the world seemed since that day. The whole world, from the greatest of nations to the most insignificant speck of dusk, from the most powerful office on the planet to the darkest alleys where the homeless dwelled and the foulest fiends preyed upon the innocent, from the far reaches of the globe in every direction to the back yard of every household in between, had inexplicably changed.

Surprisingly, Kana didn't feel as utterly depressed as she used to when she let her thoughts drift back to the past. Actually, she had learned a long time ago that it was possible forget, if you really wanted to. With a sigh, she reached into her purse and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. She peered down into the small hole where she could have sworn she should find at least a couple smokes left, and her eye twitched with irritation. "Shit." She crumpled the empty pack in a fist and launched it over the side of the building. "Just my luck."

"Ya know, lady… you make it real hard to be an efficient groundskeeper when you litter right where I've already kept the ground for the day."

Kana's face went crimson as she spun around to face the owner of the voice, and her eyes fell upon a young girl with hair like hers—as black as night—though considerably longer with two jaw-length braids to either side of her pale face. Though her tone indicated irritation, her eyes glinted mischief and she wore a smirk to match.

"Oh geez!" Kana gasped. "Ayumi… is that you?"

The chipper sixteen-year-old bounded into her arms in a heartbeat. "Big sis!"

"Wow! Last time I saw you, you were just a little squirt!" Kana gently separated herself from the still short—but now, she noted, also a well-endowed—young woman. She shook her head in disbelief and poked her old friend on the nose. "I can't believe it's been… what, eight years now?"

"Just about!" Sparkling blue gray eyes inspected the older woman for a long moment before giving a nod. "Yeah, I think I approve. You look damn good, as always, big sis."

Kana laughed. "_So_ glad you approve, you little brat."

They embraced again.

As sad as it was to be home on the ten year anniversary of Hell on Earth, Kana Otaka decided that she couldn't think of a better place to be.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

As the manager of the bathhouse at Gulliver's Travels Lodge, Kana had two full-time employees and a trio of part-time assistants. All but Ruri Oe, a freshman at Tokyo University, were also residents of the lodge. Kana had only just met Ruri the evening before, when the girl had come in for the closing shift at the bathhouse.

In order to get to know her new employee, Kana had decided to spend most of the evening with her, but Ruri, as it turned out, wasn't the most social individual she had ever met. In fact, she didn't talk much at all, even when customers started filing in for their evening baths. Even so, there was a gentleness in her shy demeanor that shined through when she shared one of her rare, brief, and oh so beautiful smiles. While Kana knew instantly that Ruri would be a chore to get close to, she would likely also prove to be a reliable if not an invaluable employee.

In sharp contrast, Kana knew that Fukae Hamada was going to be a troublemaker. Fukae was a transfer student in his second year of high school. He had moved to Tokyo because of his mother, who had wanted him to strive for acceptance into Tokyo University. One of Kana's dreams in her past life had been to graduate from that prestigious university, and so she knew how difficult it was even for a devoted and intelligent student to meet the requirements for enrollment.

Based on first impressions, Fukae didn't seem to qualify. He arrived late for work and rather than attempt to make amends with his new boss, he had settled in at the front booth and turned on his Gameboy. He didn't even acknowledge her presence until she had confronted him outright, after the third customer of the day had been greeted with little more than a nod and grunt.

To her surprise, he didn't dignify her with a vocal response during that confrontation, though he had enough respect to shut off his game and look her in the eye… barely. At least she hadn't had to twist his arm off.

Rather than cause a scene, she elected to allow herself a lunch hour to go over the situation in her mind, but she'd been so surprised by Ayumi's appearance that she hadn't had much time to consider anything but the mottled circumstances of her past, the dark times and as well as sweet and treasured memories. Now she and Ayumi moved together through the western wing of the lodge, empty other than the two of them, on their way to the stairwell that would lead them to the main lobby. During the brief silence between them, she contemplated just what she was going to say to Fukae, if anything at all.

"You seem a bit down in the dumps."

Kana blinked, turning her gaze to the girl as she smiled back.

"I woulda thought you'd be thrilled to be back," Ayumi continued. "You've been in the States a whole eight years. That's a long time to be away from home, ya know."

"Be that as it may, I can't shake the fact that it's also been exactly ten years to the day that Amalgam thoroughly trashed eighty-five percent of the world's governments and became the most powerful military force on the planet. So our reunion might be something worth celebrating… it just came on a pretty crappy day for me."

Ayumi frowned and averted her gaze. "Fair enough."

Kana touched her shoulder, and Ayumi looked up. She smiled her brightest smile in what must have been years. "Hey, don't worry about it. I promise… I'll try to smile a bit more from now on. You're right about this: I am home and I have so many wonderful things to look forward to." Kana pushed open the door leading to the stairwell, and they slowly descended down to ground level, two stories below.

The lobby was a big, open area with beige carpet and several benches. One wall displayed a big screen TV which was tuned in to some kiddy anime. Kana recognized four of the five kids sitting there. Three of them were totally engrossed in the show, but one girl she didn't recognize, with gorgeous, long ebony hair that literally shined sat off to the side with one of Vincent's Korean nephews. Kana paused to watch after the kids, her eyes locked on to the girl for several long seconds, and then she turned off down the hall leading to the bathhouse. Ayumi followed.

"I keep forgetting it's Sunday," Kana said. "No school today."

Ayumi chuckled. "No school for another week, actually. Summer vacation."

"Oh… right." She'd been living in the States far too long indeed.

As they walked down the hall leading to the bathhouse, Kana inspected the building, and was not surprised to find that it was so clean it sparkled. She was beginning to understand why, now that she knew that Ayumi was partially responsible for cleaning duty. The whole right side of the hall was pristine, streak free glass revealing a crystal clear pond filled with goldfish. The courtyard was Kana's favorite place, even though she had yet to set a foot outside. To her, it would at best be a desecration if she were to smoke out there, so while she had been tempted, she had decided not to take her lunch breaks there. She knew she would only want to have a cigarette, so instead she'd eaten all of her meals on the roof, and not even in the comfort of her own apartment. Then again, there was no place more uncomfortable to her than that apartment. It still seemed as much a prison to her than anything else, like every place she had lived over the past ten years, despite the fact that she'd lived in the United States, one of the very few countries in the world that had remained somewhat free from the plague of Amalgam's touch.

At the end of the hall they came to two doors. To the left was the door to the gym, and straight ahead, marked by a sign with, brilliant, sky-blue kanji, was a room marked The Fountains of Youth… the cutesy name that Vincent's stepmother had given the bathhouse years ago. Inside there were three doors. The two on either side led to the individual men's and women's locker rooms, while the one in the middle, where she was headed, led to the main counter, where she fully expected to find Fukae, lounging and playing his damn game. The thought made Kana grind her teeth; she was going to have to have a serious talk with that boy.

"Uh, Kana?"

"Oh, Ayumi. You're still here?" Kana blushed. "Uh, what's up? I have to go back to work now. Did you need something?"

"Oh, no… that's not it. Nothing like that." She smiled. "I was just going to say that your forehead wrinkles when you grumble. You look a lot younger when your not seething."

Kana blinked. "Well, that was rather rude."

"I know. But still, lighten up. Everything will be okay, okay?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. So, you're following me for… what now?"

"I just got done with work and I stink."

"So that was the smell. I wondered."

"Wow… talk about rude. Thanks a lot." Ayumi rolled her own eyes, though she was smirking. "Anyway, see you later, big sis. Have fun at work."

Ayumi departed through the door marked "Women's Bath" and left Kana alone. With a sigh she ran her fingers through her jaw-length ebony hair. "Wow… It's really been eight years. Now there's a dose of reality."

Her thoughts returned to the mess she was sure to find in the bathhouse, but she was surprised to realize that a calm had come over her, a calm brought on by her reunion with Ayumi. She knew she wanted to be angry, but for whatever reason, Kana found that she really couldn't be. The desire just wasn't there. She really hadn't had a chance to get to know Fukae yet, anyway, and she supposed it was only right to give him a chance to get used to her, and vice versa, before she labeled him as a troublemaker. At the same time, she couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't going to get along very well. From back to her days as a junior high class rep, Kana had always had a very little patience when it came to slackers. That didn't mean, of course, that she had to come down on Fukae so hard. They didn't really know each other yet, and she didn't at all want to be the cause of any tension before she had a chance to really get to know him.

A sinking feeling settled in, the realization that she was far from the most patient person on the planet. With a sigh, Kana pulled open the door and stepped into the cashier's booth, fully expecting to find Fukae engrossed in his game. Instead, he was leaning forward against the counter, talking to a tall woman with straight, jaw-length, jet-black hair and sparkling violet eyes, wrapped tightly in a white towel. She froze in the doorway, staring. After a moment, the woman's beautiful, violet eyes shifted away from Fukae and met hers.

Kana swallowed. "Oh, good afternoon! I hope I'm not interrupting."

Fukae leaned back. "Not at all. You're the boss."

"And I was just on my way for a good soak," the woman said.

As she walked away, Kana stared after her. She certainly looked like a Chinese woman, which Kana took as a strange circumstance. After Hell on Earth, it was said to be a very rare occasion when a woman of Chinese descent appeared in public in Japan. And yet, here one was, apparently feeling safe enough to bathe in a public bathhouse.

Of course, she knew the Gullivers were sympathetic enough to Chinese refugees, despite the fact that none were being boarded in their apartment complex.

"That there's Yue Mao. A Gulliver family friend."

Kana blinked. "I see."

"She comes in once every two or three months, so I see her on occasion."

Fukae offered her a can of tea. He seemed to be a different person all of a sudden, a bit more chipper than he had been earlier in the day. She realized that he must not be much of a morning person. Seeing him now, after lunch, Kana was more than a little taken back. He was "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed", one of Vincent's stepmother's favorite English sayings. She considered him for a moment, wondering if his suddenly bright mood was really the result of his conversation with a pretty girl. It was possible, she supposed.

She pulled the tab on her tea. "Thank you, Hamada-san."

He held up his own can. "My pleasure, boss. Look… I'm sorry about earlier. I… just have a lot on my mind right now, and I know it's no excuse to be rude. If we can start fresh, I promise I'll work on my attitude."

This was more than unexpected, Kana realized. He was a much smarter young man than she'd initially taken him for."Sure thing, kid," she said with a smile.

Fukae cringed. "Look, we have a deal, just so long as you don't call me that."

Suddenly the day seemed a heck of a lot brighter. Kana smiled. "You got it, Hamada-san."

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here."

Kurz glanced up, taking his eyes off the glass of scotch. "I heard this rumor. Folk's're sayin' that this guy I know sauntered back home for the first time in eight years. So, bein' the good friend that I always claim to be, I thought I'd roll back into town myself… see if I could get the lowdown on the dirt driftin' my way."

"That so?" Vincent smirked as he pulled up a chair and sat down next to his old friend. "And what have you found out so far?"

"Turns out none of my leads know jack, if you want the truth."

Vincent smirked. "Well, I don't suppose that's much of a surprise."

Kurz poured another glass and slid it over to him. "Of course not."

Exactly a minute of silence followed, a minute in which they both drained two glasses of scotch. Vincent poured another round for them and lifted his glass. Kurz did the same, swirling the contents of the glass as he stared into the liquid. Somewhere behind them the door opened up and someone entered the bar, but neither were concerned. Surveillance in the lodge was rock solid and nigh invisible by design. Vincent was good at his job, and the people he'd left behind when he'd gone home to the States were even better.

He'd wanted to get Kurz to be one of those people, but he'd never even bothered to ask. They both knew that would have been impossible. Amalgam knew Kurz Weber, knew most everything about him, at least up until that point when he'd disappeared from the face of the Earth. Vincent had been forced to take people those smug bastards couldn't identify. Former members of Mithril were not high on his list of people who could keep a low profile. Not in Tokyo… or most of Japan, for that matter.

"Did you see that sky this morning? Brilliant and crystal clear."

"Sure did," Kurz said. "Just like that day."

"Maybe this one will end without the firestorm," Vincent muttered.

"Maybe." They touched the rims of their glasses. "To the _Tuatha de Danaan_ and her fine crew."

"To Mithril and her allies across the globe and in the ground," Vincent agreed. "May they rest in peace for all eternity."

They drank to the memories of their fallen comrades.

Silence followed, and then it was time for business.


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Jasmine de la Croix watched in silence as the man she called "Father" slowly and methodically slipped the last of his bullets into the magazine of his 1911 .45 ACP. Dark and studious eyes were locked on the small shack on the shore, near the dock. His soft rhythmic breath blended with the sounds of the night; all else was the mark of man of his profession: equanimity and concentration mixed with deadly intensity. Though he betrayed nothing in his posture, Jasmine knew without a doubt that his heart was pounding. Panic crept like a predator just beneath the surface, waiting for that moment when his armor cracked.

For six years they had been in hiding. For six yearfs they had evaded the poisonous touch of the hand of Amalgam. Jasmine could see him trying to grasp the significance of this moment, trying to understand the mistakes he had made, the depth of the influence of people in the know. She didn't believe that was something he could possibly grasp. She herself didn't know all the details. The truth was that Amalgam had played them all for fools. They'd been discovered.

He caught his breath and his eyes shifted out toward the sea. Jasmine followed his gaze, but in the darkness she could see nothing more than the rippling waves, like black against the black-blue evening sky. Whatever it was he heard, or sensed, she did not know. The two of them sat still as stone for several moments before he finally slid the magazine into place. The soft click might once have been reassuring, but Jasmine knew that this time, not even the handgun of a marksman with the skill of Uribe Cruze would be enough to keep evil from wrapping her in its tendrils.

"Get down below," he muttered under his breath. His gun raised, the former mercenary took aim. She wondered what it was that he was looking for, but she knew whatever it was, it wouldn't be anything good. She shivered, though it was not cold. "Get below right now. Keep your head down. And whatever you do, don't you dare make a fucking sound."

Jasmine knew not to argue, though she hesitated long enough to stare into his face. It was becoming too dark to see his eyes, so she imagined what they must look like. She wanted so much to dive into his arms and tell him goodbye, but she knew he was trapped by his own conviction. There was something out there, something coming for them. He could not drop his guard, not even for an instant. She had to leave him, even though she feared she would never see him again.

"Go!"

She dropped down to the deck and crawled away as fast as she could. Though she could not see where she was going, she knew the boat by heart. In just a few seconds she reached the door that would take her below. Just as she was about to open it, she heard the first shot.

Still as stone, she waited, listening for the next sound, an indication to her own personal path to Hell itself. She didn't hear a body fall, a cry of pain, or even a muffled grunt. All she could hear, following the gunshot, was the familiar calm and the steady, consistent churning of the sea. Jasmine loosed a breath she was not aware she had been holding and pushed open the door.

As she descended into the darkness, Jasmine wondered if she had just taken her last breath of the free and open air. She just knew she was going to die down here.

* * *

Kurz placed a cigarette between his lips as he carefully considered how he was going to start this conversation. It probably wasn't even the proper time or place for it. Then again, he didn't think there would _ever_ be an appropriate time or place to discuss anything of this nature, so he was just going to have to dive headlong into the fray. Unfortunately, he couldn't find the words even though he had mentally rehearsed this meeting a million times since they had parted ways six years ago.

"I thought you'd quit," Vincent said suddenly.

"I did. But then, I'd thought you were gone for good." Kurz lit the cigarette as he peered at him out of the corner of his eye. "If there's anything I know about you, it's that you wouldn't come back to Japan without a very good reason. What's even scarier is that you would bring _her_ back. So, naturally, and even though I don't look it, I've suddenly become a nervous wreck. That said, I need a fucking cigarette."

Vincent smirked and stared down at his empty glass. "Can't say I blame you. I should probably be a nervous wreck myself. Strange how I'm not… given everything I know."

"Everything you know? What the hell does that mean?"

"All in good time. And especially not here."

Kurz's frown deepened. "And what the hell does _that _mean."

Vincent swivelled about in his barstool and leaned back against the bar, casting his friend a sidelong glance. "Just call it common courtesy. You see that dame over there?" He pointed to a table near the door, where the only other customer waited in silence. Kurz considered her for a long time before turning back to hunch over the bar again. He slipped the cigarette from his lips and breathed a long stream of smoke out into the musty bar air. "She'd skin me alive for talking about this in public, so I'm not saying jack right now. Not here."

"Son of a bitch." Kurz took one last drag before he stubbed out his cigarette. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"I asked her to come."

"You are nuts, you know that?"

Vincent smirked. "I didn't come home just so I could worry myself to death while I was here. Wraith is damn good at what she does. She'll be good insurance while I run my ass all over Tokyo, looking for demons."

"Demons." The former sniper snorted. "Now wait just a second…"

Vincent lifted a finger. "Not here," he repeated.

Kurz growled. "Then I'm not paying my bill."

"Rebellious bastard," Vincent said cheerfully. "Oh well… It was on the house anyway."

* * *

Life was far too short, Inspector Kaoru Oe thought to himself as he stared down at the grisly mess before him. He thought of his own daughter momentarily and gave a shake of his head. His young partner, Daisuke Harako, held a handkerchief to his mouth, having long ago averted his gaze to the shadows as he fought to keep his lunch down. They waited patiently as International CSI Specialist, Agent Miranda Cassidy, speaking softly into a voice recorder, strolled around the body in thoughtful contemplation as she conducted investigation of her own.

Despite the quiet that engulfed the alley, interrupted on occasion by the sounds of the city all around them, the scene around them was a flurry of activity, and had been ever since the first officer had arrived on the scene, within the last half hour. None dared to speculate too much into the grisly murder, but they all suspected—indeed, suspected nearly to the point of knowing beyond a doubt—that this victim shared a common theme to the six others, even if she shared nothing else. Kaoru knew that even if the speculation was wrong on his part, a higher authority shared his suspicion. After all, who in their right mind would have sent an International CSI Specialist into Japan if they didn't suspect the Black Demon?

Kaoru ran his fingers through his hair as he considered the thick, red splotches of blood on the brick wall of the building nearest the body, the long threads between the two. It was quite clear that the killing blow had been struck while the victim stood between the wall and the killer. There was very little blood to the other side, and the killer had taken great care not to step in the pool of blood that had swelled beneath the body. He also had left behind his weapon of choice—as was the MO of the Black Demon—buried in the spine of the corpse.

No head, of course, also the MO of the Black Demon. That particular piece of evidence had been lopped off like all the other victims', either a gruesome trophy or a method to ensure that easy identification would be impossible. Perhaps both. The girl's lack of clothing wasn't going to help matters. If Kaoru's hunch was right, their would be no evidence of sexual assault. The Black Demon wasn't at all interested in such things.

Judging by her remains, the victim had been at least in her upper teens but not likely any older than her mid-thirties, perhaps even in her forties assuming she had taken such exquisite care of her body. With the drugs available not only on the market but also those from the Underground, it wasn't an implausible scenario. An autopsy would certainly help Miranda's team nail down a more approximate age, but the results would take more time than Kaoru had to spare. He had to work under the assumption that the girl was at least twenty-five, and no older than thirty-five.

With a quizzical look on her face, Miranda came around the body and strode over to Kaoru and his partner. He glanced at young Daisuke, who looked very pale, and decided it was quite the miracle that he hadn't yet dumped the contents of lunch from his stomach onto the crime scene. "You don't look so hot, Harako," he grumbled. "Go get some fresh air."

Daisuke looked up to him. "I'm fine, sir."

"It's not a suggestion, Inspector. Get out of here."

He actually looked a little relieved. "Um… yeah, sure, Oe. I understand." He started off down the alley, only to pause. He glanced back, and Kaoru nodded. He waved back and tried to smile. "Be careful with the tigress, sir."

"No problem here, Harako," Kaoru said with a smirk.

"The kid has a weak stomach," Miranda said quietly as she approached. Together, they watched as Daisuke made his way through the small crowd that had gathered at the perimeter.

"Weak stomach, but a strong heart. That's for sure." Kaoru turned to her. "What do you think, Cassidy? Anything come to mind?"

"I'm a hundred percent positive that it's your Demon again, Inspector."

"A hundred percent? I'd say the odds are pretty good then. What's the kicker?"

She sighed as she tucked a lock of her long, auburn hair behind an ear. "The kicker is that, once again, there's no clear evidence of a retraction. The only reason we know that a killer ever came or went was the fact that we have a body that obviously didn't mutilate itself. He came with her, or more likely came out of nowhere, slaughtered her where she stood, and vanished without a trace. With as much blood it stands to reason that he should have gotten some on him, but assuming he did, he didn't leave a trail. It's as if he dropped down from the sky, did the deed, and flew away."

"Of course. The phantom menace. I guess that's why we call him the Black Demon. He who leaves no trail." Kaoru slipped a cigarette from the pocket of his jacket and set it between his lips. He offered Miranda one, but she turned it down. He flicked at his lighter a couple times, but no flame sprung forth as he continued. "We've got a fucking spirit on our hands, is that it? Problem is, we can't take that kind of bullshit to the Chief."

Miranda grunted. "You got that right, Inspector."

"So that's seven girls in two days, four of them in the last ten hours." Finally a flame sprung to life and he lit his cigarette. "The youngest being approximately fourteen or fifteen years of age, the oldest at least thirty, possibly as old as forty, though we have no way of determining which victim was the oldest. No positive ID on any of the victims just yet. All slaughtered by blade, presumably the same rusty old sword that the killer uses to pin them to the ground between their shoulder blades after he slices them open with it."

"Not to mention that each corpse is headless," Miranda noted as she considered his words. "No apparent sign of a struggle before they died. My guess is they flat out didn't have time."

"Either they didn't see him coming…"

Miranda nodded. "Or they had no reason to suspect he would do what he did."

"Question is, does that mean they knew the killer?"

"Unless, of course, the bastard really is a ghost."

The two of them turned back to gaze upon the decapitated body with the sword piercing that pinned it mercilessly to the ground. A camera's bulb flashed as another picture was taken. It seemed a sacrilege for this poor woman's body and her hideous and tragic end to be immortalized in such a manner, but it would be a worse crime to let her murder go unpunished. Which was exactly what would happen if they didn't get some sort of break. The sooner the better; the longer this butcher roamed the streets of Tokyo, the more likely another poor soul would wander into the meat grinder.

Nobody deserved to die like this.

* * *

_Go!_

That had been her guardian's final word to her. The last she had heard from him at all. She was certain that the recent, sharp crack that had disturbed the night could only have been one thing: a gunshot. The sound frightened her beyond description, as the shot had been far too loud to have been that of the 1911 .45 ACP that her father carried. While there was no way to know for certain that he had been murdered, Jasmine didn't have a doubt in her mind that he had gone to the other world. That was the way these bastards operated. They didn't leave loose ends to chance, and they were very efficient. Beyond a doubt, Uribe Cruze had been slain.

These bastards meant for her to follow him to the underworld, but Jasmine refused to go down without a fight. Her father would want her to stand up for her right to live, to stand up to these monsters who sought only to destroy her. Determined, she crept to the back of the cabin and fumbled with the keys she'd kept in her pocket for just such an emergency. She dropped them the first time, but managed to find them quickly. Kneeling next to the crate where her father had kept his arsenal, she jammed the key into the padlock and turned it. With a metallic click the shackle was released from the locking mechanism. She tossed the devise away and threw open the crate.

She pulled a small leather box from its place in the corner of the crate and popped it open. Her weapon of choice—a Walther PPS 9mm that her father had given to her years ago—waited there for her. She grabbed the weapon and the three loaded clips, dropping two into her pocket. The third she slid into grip of the weapon and pulled back the slide. Releasing the safety, Jasmine turned back to the cabin's entrance.

She froze as a single word exploded into her thoughts, shattering her confidence.

_Anastasia._

Flashes of light pulsed through her brain. A pattern she did not understand but recognized without a doubt. She had seen this pattern before. It flickered with varying degrees of brightness and speed. The flashes of light were joined by a diverse sequence of trills and beeps and chirps that reminded her of the background noise for a bridge sequence onboard the Starship _Enterprise_ from that science fiction show that her father had loved to watch.

_Come to me, Anastasia._

But how? How did he know that name?

_Don't waste my time, girl. Go to the door and join me on the deck. Do this immediately. Don't make me come down there for you. That would be a really bad move._

Trembling, Jasmine lifted her handgun and pointed it to the door. She was shaking so terribly that she couldn't even train the site of the weapon on a particular target. This approach would get her killed without a doubt. Still, she refused to go down with a fight.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to take a step forward, tried to move toward her destiny, but her knees locked up as her motor skills abandoned her. In her heart she knew the reason. She wasn't ready to die. There was too much in this life that she yearned to achieve, too much to live for. She closed her eyes tight and murmured softly to herself. "Father…"

He lay up there now on the deck, dead. She knew it without having to see his body. The gunshot confirmed it for her. Even though Uribe Cruze wasn't her real father, she had loved him dearly, without shame, without reservation. He had been very good to her, had been her whole world since that terrible day when she had been discovered. Since that day, he had done everything in his power to help her—not to pick up the pieces of the past, but instead, to pave a new road and with it, to establish a new future, all her own.

Jasmine held back a sob of despair. She wasn't ready to die. She owed him her continued existence. She owed him her life. Uribe would not want her to surrender it so easily. He would want for her to survive, by any means necessary.

_You're hesitating. Fine then._

Jasmine's eyes widened. She yelped in surprise as a high-pitched tone pierced her thoughts. At first the sensation only surprised her, but it quickly intensified until she could feel the painful vibrations within her skull. She thought her head would explode.

_Have it your way._

Consciousness winked from existence as the blackness consumed her. What seemed only an instant later, as if she had merely blinked away a moment of unease, she found herself standing unexpectedly on the bridge of her father's ship. Before her, mere feet away, staring down at her with a devilish smirk on his lips, was a man adorned in a suit of golden armor.

Though her view was slightly obscured by the black face shield that hung over the monster's eyes, she recognized the man's square jaw and the narrow tuft of facial hair that hung from his chin. This was a man she knew, someone she had crossed paths with before. More than six years had passed since that day when this butcher had stolen the lives of her family.

She had seen him more recently in pictures, had known that he was out there and that she was still on his short list of targets. Her father had been insistent that she be kept informed of the potential dangers of the world, most importantly, those that were quite literally still out there, looking for her. Now, suddenly, one of them had found her.

"Ah, Miss Anastasia. What a pleasure to have finally made your acquaintance."

She wanted to lift the weapon in her hands, to take aim and to fire a bullet destined to strike him in the heart, to seize his life from him and in turn to ensure her own survival, but the weapon was no longer in her hands.

A mental image fluttered in her head, hazy but at the same time all too clear.

_Drop it._

With those words in her head, she had no choice but to obey. Her will had been drained from her when she had lost conscious thought, in that moment when she had blacked out. The weapon lay down below, back where she had dropped it.

"Anyway, I would introduce myself, but somehow I think that's pointless. After all, what would be the point? I'm going to kill you, after all. I somehow doubt the name will be of any use to you where you're going."

He held up a fist encased in black, the lone spot on his armor that she could see that wasn't gold. A brilliant blue light surrounded the fist as he held it aloft, inches above her chest.

A Lambda Driver? Was it possible?

No… it wasn't. Such a device would require far more energy than a single suit of armor could provide. Without the electrical output of an Arm Slave with the capabilities of an M9 or greater, a Lambda Driver would be useless, nothing more than an eighty million dollar paperweight. Yet here one was. She was about to become a victim of the impossible.

The man's demonic smirk grew wide. "Now… don't move, sweetheart. I'm not gonna hurt you one little bit. I'm just gonna to take your head!"

The two of them were consumed by the light surrounding the man's iron fist.

Jasmine tried to run, but her legs refused to respond. A mere second passed, and then an eternity of darkness.


End file.
